You told me how you couldn't wait to get out
of here, to go
to England, where people have common
sense (or so you said). (Or so
you think). Jerks
are everywhere, the world is bigger
than you realize now.
But I'm a housewife with wet
hair, wearing unwashed clothes
and waiting for my napping children
to wake up.
Waiting to wake up
myself.
London won't make you less
American, but go ahead
it's worth
the shot.
Here I am sedentary and weighted
down, tugging the strings of your
pubescent dreams.
Maybe I'll go somewhere else too, stop
waiting for the immediate next and look
up again
awake.